Genocidal Jesus
by Punk Pikachu
Summary: Curly loses it and begins to believe he's the next Messiah and needs to save the earth. In a very twisted way. Rated for violence, subject matter, brief sexual reference and religious iconage.
1. The Birth Of A Complex

Author's Notes: Inspired by Rockfan05's "School Shooting At PS18". The concept interested me, but it needed a different character and approach for me to play with it. Hope it gives you chills.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any Nickolodean associated cartoons.

-----

_Echoes. It all would echo, just like my footsteps do, overpowering everyone's voices except the ones in my head. They talk constantly, talking to me, arguing with each other, sometimes screaming. It gets tiring and I'd love some days just to shut them up. _

_When I walk through those heavy doors, I feel eyes. Squishy, staring eyes that locked onto me and became weights like prisoners wear around their ankles. Sneers and remarks about me that jabbed into my sides, as though I were upon the crucifix of Christ and they were Romans, stabbing me in the sides. I look down at my hands and imagine blood pouring from them, all over my desk, down my arms and on the floor. They'd scream too. Pretty screams if I was the next Jesus. And they'd kill me just the same. All petty pathetic sinful humans...._

_"Curly? Curly?"_

_A voice!_

Curly looked around and found the voice had come from Mr. Simmons, smooth and gentle.

"Curly, do you know the answer?"

"Elimination!" He replied boldly, as the class erupted in laughter. Mr. Simmons gave him a small confused smile.

"No, that's not the answer to the math formula. But good try though."

"What a freakshow!" Helga laughed loudly a few desks behind him.

"He's even stupider than I am." Stinky's voice rang from beside him.

"Stupid, stupid!" The boisterous laugh of Harold rang through the classroom.

It continued for more than a minute until Mr. Simmons calmed the class and the lesson continued. But the insults were being stored in Curly's mind.

_Stupid...Stupid...who's stupid? They are stupid. They ask me for the answer to this plague of walking abusive meat bags and I give it to them and they laugh and mock me? Who's the stupid one?_

The teasing didn't stop as Curly walked from the lunch line and felt his foot make contact with a 6th's grader's. The small boy was launched forward and into his tray of spagetti, covering him in the mess of it. Once again, he heard an uproar of laughs from all around him, a few shocked gasps as well. He began licking the spagetti sauce from his skin and eating it from his hair, sitting in the middle of the cafeteria. This brought on a bigger laugh and students crowding around him.

"What were you, raised by wolves, ya little snot?"

"What a loser. Hahahaha!"

"Go back to the crazy house, you freak."

They encircled him to a point where he felt suffocated and let out a primal hiss, slipping through legs and running off on all fours out of the cafeteria, the laughter trailing behind him.

_"Are you an animal?"_

_"No."_

_"Then get up and stop being one."_

_"But aren't humans simply animals with more advanced brains?"_

_I stand as my mind gets into another argument, but it's being eaten. I lose the voices as the laughing gets louder and louder. It's coming in waves, darker, deeper...I turn around and it's got me..._

Arnold left the cafeteria after Curly and found him nearly, curled around himself behind a trashcan, gasping for air and trembling. His tender heart ached for the boy, even if he was erratic sometimes. Reaching out a hand, he placed it on the sauce-soaked back of his shirt. Curly brought in a deep gasp of air and looked up at him. His eyes weren't laughing like the others. They looked sad. He stood, head down.

"I'm sorry everyone's so mean. Are you okay?" Arnold said to him.

He stood still for a moment, then reached out and cupped Arnold's cheeks, whose eyes went wide. He kissed him softly and said to him, "You are the only forgiven one." With that, he walked off, leaving Arnold, stunned, confused and slightly disgusted.

_You are forgiven. But none else shall be..._


	2. Betrayal

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any other shows in association.

Author's Notes: I'm liking the way this feels.

-----

After lunch, Curly returned to class, still smelling of spagetti sauce and a few strands still in his hair. Mr. Simmons looked at him empathetically and offered to remove them before the rest of the class returned. Curly simply nodded and stood as Mr. Simmons pulled the pieces of pasta from his hair.

_Did he laugh? No. He didn't laugh. He said it was a good answer. He believes it, believes I can save us. My follower, my apostle..._

Mr. Simmons ran a wet cloth over Curly's cheek and wiped his face clean of the red marks with a small smile as Curly looked over the man from behind his glasses. He was a lithe man, with thin fingers and a voice everyone knew, even though it had no volume.

"I know kids can be cruel, they can be to me too. But I know it's an expression of the pain they feel, and how much they need some kindness in their life too. And I think you are very special and strong to be able to handle those moments. You have a special gift in you." He said to Curly, whose eyes widened.

_A special gift! So he sees what I need to do too! _

Curly saluted him. "I shall put my gift to use, sir!" With that, he marched back to his desk and sat. Mr. Simmons looked confused, but smiled anyway as students filed back into his classroom.

"All right, class. Today we're going to do something very 'special'." He said this, making quotations with his hands. "I want everyone to move their desks into a circle so we can see everyone and connect together. Then, I want everyone to talk about something 'special' they see in another person."

The class groaned and reluctantly moved their desks into a circle, putting Mr. Simmons in the middle. They went around the room, saying trite answers like "friendly" and "smart" until the class reached Curly.

"Now what is something special about Curly?" Mr. Simmoms asked hopefully.

"That's he's special ed?" Helga snidely replied with a laugh that caught on around the room.

"Now, now Helga. Its-it's not nice to say things about people like that-"

"What's there to say? He's a freak."

"Oh, but I am special."

The class stopped laughing to turn their heads to the now grinning Curly.

"I'm more special than you know, you blonde snake."

Helga's eyes widened as he addressed her with a look of disdain.

"More than all of you know." He proclaimed, standing on his desk. Mr. Simmons attempted to bring him down, but he walked proudly along the circle of desks, looking down at each person.

"What's special about you? Waste of human reproductive cells, you are. Angry bitter witch." He said, looking down at the stunned Helga, who had no retort for an insult so cold. He continued, insulting each classmate.

"Slack-jawed simpleton." He said at Stinky, who tilted his head confused.

"Materialistic worshipper of the dollar." To Rhonda, who gasped with a "Well, I never!"

"Fat, pathetic excuse of a boy." He said to Harold, who teared up and ran out of the room crying.

"Special? You don't know how special I am or how much the world needs me, the savior of this land! Your next messiah!"

The punch he felt hit his face come from a very shocking source. It was a snarling Gerald.

"Don't you be talking like that, like you the next Jesus and insulting the lord, crazy boy."

"Gerald! Physical violence is not the answer!" Mr. Simmons said, attempting to defuse the situation, but finding that most of the students had rallied behind Gerald and that he was powerless.

"We're letting a little sick in the head boy get the best of us and run his mouth? Uh uh, I don't flow with this." Gerald sneered while Arnold gawked at his normally peaceful best friend.

"You're right, we should kick his ass!" Sid chimed in.

"You're doing just what it says, to beat and abuse your savior just like the Jews did." Curly laughed and wiped off the blood from his now flowing nose. With that, another hit came to him, this time, a well placed kick from a returned Harold.

"Come at me, scum." Curly whispered as a good portion of the class descended angry upon him. Mr. Simmons ran for the principal in fear of his own students and Arnold, along with a few other students watched in horror at every punch and gash inflicted upon the skinny boy. His glasses came off his face and skittered across the floor, ending up being crushed under a child's foot. They were the only thing he felt pain from at that moment before losing consciousness to a well placed punch to his temple.

-----

Curly awoke in a haze sometime later to faint voices on the other side of a white curtain. He vaguely recognized he was in the nurses' office, but without his glasses, his field of vision was very limited. As he listened however, his sense of hearing was fine.

"Sir, I'd very carefully consider our offer."

"How am I supposed to believe the word of a principal who lets their students gang up on a 9 year old boy in the middle of fucking class?"

"Please, , refrain from using such words in a public elementary school."

"Sir, I'm simply advising this to you for yours and the school's best interest."

"My son has always been a little strange, but you are suggesting that he be put into a detainment hospital?! What grounds do you have reason for this?"

"Sir, there are confirmed reports of your son speaking blasphamous words in the middle of class and provoking the attack by the students."

"So you're saying that your group of delinquents had good reason to beat my son into unconsciousness?!"

"Please, gentleman. We're not trying to say that, sir. We simply think that your son may need a little bit of help finding better ways to express himself and that a facility would be safer."

Curly recognized the voice who spoke last as Mr. Simmons and felt an ache in his head.

_So he didn't believe at all...He had said I was special...Oh, Mr. Simmons, must you sell me to them for so little?_

"This is ridiculous! I'm taking my son home and I seriously suggest you rethink the way you run your school, Principal Wartz!"

"You can take your son home after the appointed school day is over. He requires rest and to not be moved."

He heard his father growl and a loud slam echo as he left.

"Sir, is that wise? Suggesting a 9 year old boy be institutionalized?"

"Simmons, we cannot let this get out of hand or we'll end up losing control over the entire school. One bad seed can spoil the bunch and we've been letting this one cultivate in our garden far too long. You've seen how much he's riled up the students over the year."

"But sir, he's a special boy with a lot to offer and I think he just needs some guidance-"

"The time for guidance has long passed, Simmons. This boy is a threat to our students and our faith."

"Sir, not everyone is Christian in this school." Mr. Simmons said it with a hint of being insulted.

"That doesn't matter. What does matter is his blasphemous remarks could start a schoolwide riot and we could lose our funding. We need to do what is best for our school and children, no questions asked."

With that, Principal Wartz exited the nurses' office. Mr. Simmons, feeling thouroughly defeated, walked around the curtain to view Curly, who pretended to still be sleeping. His face and body were covered with bruises and cuts. Although it had not been broken, his left arm was deeply swollen from where he had hit the wall. Dried blood stained his face from a broken nose.

"This isn't what I set out to do." Mr. Simmons sighed and touched Curly's hair. "But you'll get the help you need, Curly."

As he exited, Curly's eyes opened and touched the place Mr. Simmons' hand had been, then closed once more.

"You are my apostle. My Judas."


	3. Rememberance

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! nor any of its characters.

Author's Notes: Inspiration has been a little sparse lately, but I did find some today.

...

Curly spent the next week at home, laying in his bed and staring up at the ceiling. His father would come in and out with food and attempt to make conversation with his son to ask what was wrong, but each time, he simply received short, curt answers. The boy thought his words to be useless and looking over at his father, would question how he had been born to this man who obviously had no real understanding of his offspring. As Curly laid there in his bed, tracing and retracing the ceiling tiles, he would relive the beating in his head, his body physically twitching as the memories came along with the pain. He put all their words into a mental soundtrack stuck on replay. At night, he'd stare out the window, listening to the sounds of the city, the sirens crying out in the night, gunshots from far off, cars honking like argumentative couples.

The week passed and Curly was allowed to go back to school. He returned to find that the only punishment the boys had received was two weeks detention, as the principal did not want the incident to become overblown. Curly returned to school as silent as a ghost, but the damage had been done. Glares surrounded him nearly at all times as he walked by. The teasing he had gotten before paled in comparison to the treatment the boy would now receive. His locker had been vandelized, death threats written on it as well as heavy insults. His books and gym clothes had been burned. His right arm ached incredibly, not from the beating a week before, but from having been shoved into walls and the floor in the hallway. Still, the dark haired boy said nothing, only kept his eyes to the ground. His mouth barely moved, no real sign of any kind of emotion. By the end of the day, Curly could barely walk straight to get back home, still without his glasses. His plans were stopped through as a large hand caught his shirt and pulled him backwards.

"Hey, look, I've found the Jesus boy!" Wolfgang proclaimed to his pals, laughing and looking down at him. "Why don't you show us some of your tricks then, if you're Jesus? Come on, go walk on water, turn me into a fish, you freak!" He shoved Curly backwards, forcing him into the boys restroom. "Well, if you can't walk on water, let's see if you can breathe in it." A brief flash of panic went through Curly as he realized what they meant too late, the skinny boy lifted up and his head forced into one of the toilets. The sound of it flushing rang in his ears as he tried to hold his breath. Wolfgang's hand tightened around the back of his neck, the boys laughing madly as Curly tried to breathe while the water went down, finding his mouth and lungs being filled with the filthy water. Arms flailing and choking, Curly could feel his body begging for air.

He was granted that wish as he felt his body being pulled back and thrown, the sounds of running footsteps exiting the bathroom, leaving the soaked boy on the floor.

"Curly, are you okay?" He heard a familiar voice and looked up, the hazed vision of a football head and bright blonde hair appearing.

"They heard me and ran, I think they thought it was empty in here." He could feel Arnold blotting his face with paper towels as he worked to fill his lungs with the air he desperately needed. The sweet boy was very grateful that Curly could not see, as his eyes were starting to tear up. Curly was covered in scars and bruises and watching him suffer was taking a toll on the young boy's heart.

"I don't think you're safe here. Maybe you should talk to your dad about going somewhere else, like another school. I mean, I'd still come see you, but..." He said, hiding the worry in his voice. Curly closed his eyes and slowly stood, his upper body still dripping wet.

"I won't forget you, Arnold." He said, coughing up a bit. Misunderstanding the boy's words, Arnold felt a bit of relief and smiled, throwing away the wet towels. He still felt a foreboding chill in his body that made him worry though. Although Curly was his friend, he felt as though he had no idea what lay inside of the boy...


	4. Calm Before The Storm

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any of its associates.

Author's Notes: I really forgot how much I enjoyed writing this, so I figured another chapter was in order. NSFW chapter, although I don't think this story is at all anyway.

...

Coming home, the city was sweltering hot, leaving his clothing wet with both toilet water and sweat, a smell even the dogs wandering the streets would not come near. The cuts along his arms were stinging, a sign of possible infection.

_Filth, covered in filth, their hands on me, cutting into me..._

Panic set into Curly's mind as he felt flashbacks to all the touches on his skin, imagining the hands as bloodied, leaving fingerprints and marks on his skin. He began to scratch at his arms vigorously as he kept walking, finally getting home. He slipped off his clothing and stepped into a shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand and scrubbing madly at his skin, his eyes seeing the blood seeping into his skin and poisoning him.

"It burns, it burns..." He repeated to himself, his flesh becoming pink and raw. After an hour, he finally exited the shower, patches of his skin actually bleeding now from having been torn at. The boy stopped in front of the mirror and looked at his nude figure, covered in various wounds and blood. This didn't seem to phase him though. He seemed almost pleased, seeing them as spear wounds, whips along his back, his blood being shed for them.

"Curly, Curly are you there?" His father said through the closed door. "Yes, I am, Father." He said, regally. A pause, then he spoke again. "Well, I'm just saying bye. I need to get to the airport. The Peterson business deal, remember? I love you son, please be careful. We'll talk more to your school about all this when I get back." As the footsteps faded, Curly pressed his body against the mirror, feeling the cool glass against his burning skin. It felt as good as cool water over him and he couldn't help but grind his boyish hips into the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. Laying out on his frayed bedsheet, his hand reached into the drawer, pulling out a faded yellow shirt that had the remnants of "Curly's Girl" on the front, bringing it to his face and breathing in the scent, a bare wisp of Rhonda's perfume still on it. He shuddered and clung to it.

"Oh, Rhonda, maybe I'll let you off the hook if you let my bury my face into that snow white neck of yours and make you mine..." He pressed himself into a pillow, thinking of her. His fantasies started off normal, but became more and more twisted, letting out a cry as he quickly shuddered against the pillow, the image of Rhonda's blood on the floor throwing him into esctasy.

He lay there in the silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the city outside and the cool air against his stinging skin. He sat up and tossed the soiled pillow to the side, the shirt in his drawer and walked through his house to his father's bedroom. Opening the closet, he found his desired. A very large locked chest. He kneeled and stroked his hand over it, a twisted smile on his face, inserting a wire into the lock. After a minute, it clicked and the lock fell into his hands, revealing the treasure within.

_This is my word, what I will use to split the ground and wash away all their sins..._

...

Arnold woke up a few nights later in a cold sweat, looking around his room frantically. The sound was ringing in his ears. It had to have been real. Throwing the covers off of him, the young boy raced down the stairs of his bedroom, into the upstairs hallway. Everything was perfectly fine. No, it couldn't be. He dashed down to the first floor, breathless when he found that everything was as it should be downstairs as well, his grandmother combating a fly that had found its way into the kitchen.

"Arnold, what's wrong? You look like you were hunting the beast of the plains! Hiyah!" She took a swipe at the fly, snapping as it evaded her grasp, but letting it go for now as she walked over to her grandson, who had tears in his eyes.

"Grandma, I heard a sound, a shot, I thought someone, you or Grampa..." He panted, near hysterical. Her arms came around him and held him close as Arnold's eyes closed, trying to breathe normally. After a minute, he spoke once more.

"Grandma, I'm scared and I don't know why. Something feels really bad."

"Pay attention to those feelings, Arnold. You might have someone telling you something you need to know." She ruffled his hair. "I need to get back to the hunt and you, to bed."

"Okay, Grandma." He sniffled, walking out of the kitchen, hearing a few glasses break as she kicked at the wall to smash the fly. Arnold's nerves were still tingling and his chest ached from how fast his heart had been beating. He'd never been so terrified in all his life. What was happening to him? He couldn't even remember what he had dreamt, just the ear splitting sound. Even thinking about it made him tremble in fear.

When he made up back up to his room and laid out on his bed, he looked to the sky above him, little splatters of rain beginning to sprinkle on his ceiling. The rain was calming, but Arnold still felt chilled and wondered if his Grandma was right, that someone or something was trying to tell him something, that something was going to happen.


	5. Walking In, Never To Leave

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any of the Nickelodeon affiliates.

Author's Notes: From here on in, things are about to get a bit heavy. Warnings for graphic violence and possibly other offensive material. There is a bit of an easter egg in this chapter, to kudos to those who get it.

IIIIII

Curly knew he was alone in the house when he woke up. The alarm by his bedside was buzzing loudly, but the world outside was still asleep. His clock read 4 am and he rubbed his eyes. Even tired, the smile on his face could not be kept away as he looked to his tear away calender. With great pleasure, he ripped the page and revealed the day. The 14th of April. It would be his day today, the day of rebirth for so many. His treasure was lying under the bed and it made his heart skip a beat before he would jump from his bed and search for his clothing. All white today, he thought to himself. He wanted to be able to see his work on his clothes.

Only a few would see the boy in all white walking to school that early, his back stuffed with what they thought to be school books and a violin case in his hand. An elderly woman even smiled, imagining him playing the instrument. They would not know that this would be the glimpse of one of the greatest tragedies to befall PS 118 for years to come.

When he reached the school, the sun had not risen yet, but was starting to peak over the buildings. The parking lot only had the janitor's car. He smiled and made his way to the window that would let him slip into the basement. He knew the janitor liked to sleep in and would always forget to lock it while he took a brief nap before the children would arrive. As expected, the basement was empty and from his bag, Curly took out a scroll, laying it flat in front of him. It appeared to be a blueprint of the school. Markings adorned it, classrooms. Many had been left alone, but three in particular stood out. Two of them were crossed with a large marked X, and forebodingly, his own was circled. When his hands touched what else he had stowed in his backpack, he couldn't retain the laughter in his throat, echoing maniacally in the basement. No one would see it coming.


	6. The Sound Of A Lock

Disclaimer: You all already know I don't own this stuff, just my writings.

Author's Notes: Been a while, hasn't it? Time to pick up where we left off.

Arnold had woken up to another nightmare that morning, his alarm clock saying his name being the screaming voices in his dreams and sending the poor boy bolting upright and drenched in a cold sweat. His mind had been wrought with them for the last week or so and today's had been the worst. This had to be a sign of something, but he still had no idea what. Pulling his soaked pajamas from his body and finding clean clothing, he swallowed and tried to gather his nerves.

Going downstairs, it seemed that he wasn't the only one on edge or feeling something strange in the air. Grandma was actually acting...normal. She kissed Arnold's head as she gave him his cereal, saying good morning and that he looked pale.

"Morning, Grandma." He said tiredly, looking at the chunks floating in his milk and seeing them bubble, then sink when they finally became too saturated. It made his stomach turn and he pushed the bowl away.

"Not hungry? Would you rather something else, Arnold?" She said in her sweet tone.

"No thanks. I think I'm just gonna head to school. Bye Grandma."

"Arnold?"

"Yeah?" He looked over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

"Be careful today. I love you."

She never said that. Arnold knew that both his Grandma and Grandpa loved him, but they never were huge about saying it, especially in the eerie tone of voice she had used. His skin prickled with worry and stress as he neared the school, trying to feel comforted when Gerald joined him and they began to talk about the latest happenings, but he couldn't shake the feeling from his mind. He would stop in front of the doors to PS 118 and his stomach did a flip. Something was telling him that there was something bad, that he should turn around and go home and bury his face in Grandpa's shoulder and cry.

"Hey Arnold, you okay man? You look kinda sick." Gerald said, urging his friend inside as the bell screamed far too loudly in Arnold's ear.

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm okay. Let's go." He took that heavy step in, wondering if he was the only one to be feeling this way.

The classroom seemed as normal as could be. The students filed in, looking sluggish and sleepy still. Most everyone seemed to not be noticing anything out of the ordinary. There were a few discrepancies though that Arnold noticed. Three seats were currently empty. One he knew why, Lila had gotten a bad chest cold and was home sick. Phoebe was also missing and Curly's seat was ominously empty. He wondered if the school had really transferred him elsewhere or to a hospital. The last thing he noticed was that Helga, who normally would either sleeping or getting ready to pelt him with spitballs, looked weary and ever so slightly paranoid, her eyes darting back and forth around the room. It didn't help to quell any nervousness in Arnold as he took his seat, the door closing and Mr. Simmons walking in with his normal cheerful greeting.

Things seemed fine. Half an hour, an hour, two hours passed. Maybe he was just having an off day, maybe he was just imagining things.

The door opened at 10:45 am to Mr. Simmons class. A young boy walked in, a semi automatic gun strapped to his back, the one his father had planned to give to him on his 18th birthday. In his pocket like a holster, a loaded pistol. On his belt loop, a freshly sharpened pocket knife. And around his neck, a silver cross. All the screaming that had gone on in Arnold's dreams suddenly came back to his mind and though he was never much of a believer in God, he found himself praying harder than he ever would in his life.


	7. Do You Believe In God?

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any Nickelodeon associates.

Author's Notes: School has been owning my life. But, thought it would be a good night to get some stress out in writing.

All eyes were turned on the boy and the classroom was completely silent for a moment, Mr. Simmons skin breaking out in a cold sweat. Suddenly, Harold's laughter burst out from the silence and everyone would glance.

"Hah, those aren't even real! Ooooh, I'm so scared! Look at the crazy man with the big guns!" He mocked, his voice childish and Curly slowly looking to him. A few students would begin to chuckle, but Arnold's eyes were locked on those weapons. Harold had to be out of his mind, from the few times he'd seen them in movies and a couple guns that his grandfather had hid very very _very_ far away from his grandma, Arnold knew those were real. Tearing his eyes away from Curly for a moment, he glanced about. He could see who knew those were real, their pupils wide and shaking. Rhonda was trembling, her lips white pressed together so hard.

When Curly would begin to walk back towards Harold's desk, the laughter stopped and Mr. Simmons spoke.

"Curly, I-I know you're under a lot of stress, but vi-violence is not the way. Please, just put the gun down, okay? We can solve this without violence." He held up his hands, trying to will the boy down. Curly would stop, walking over to Mr. Simmons.

"Okay. But I want you to do something first." He spoke, his voice serene despite the chaotic and fearful energy around the room. The man's face broke into a relieved smile.

"What do you want, Curly? Anything, okay?"

"Kneel in front of me."

Mr. Simmons seemed completely oblivious, but watching this, Arnold could see that behind those glasses, Curly had no desire to surrender himself. He wanted to shout, to tell him, but he couldn't move. His hands were clutching his desk so tightly, he would not be surprised if there were fingerprints grooved into the wood now.

"Mr. Simmons, you can't do this." He finally was able to call out.

"Arnold. W-We need to let Curly express his feelings to us, in the best and safest way possible." He gave a weak smile and kneeled before Curly whose expression stayed as empty as before.

The teacher would close his eyes and one could see his life silently chanting a prayer. Curly's hand laid lazily on the pistol in his pocket before withdrawing it and placing the end of his teacher's forehead. The man's eyes would close tighter, and no sound came from any of them watching. The bare hint of a smile would grace Curly's lips before he would appear to pull the gun away. Feeling the metal away from his skin, Mr. Simmons' shoulders would relax, opening his eyes.

"I knew you'd see, Curly-"

Time would slow in the children's eyes. They would see the gun pointed down, the bullet enter through Mr. Simmons ribs, shattering them and tearing at his flesh, severing vital arteries before finally making its way through that needed muscle for life and out his back, leaving its mark in the desk behind him. They would see his eyes go wide, his pupils retract to bare dots before he slumped forward, twitching and giving gasps and sickening gurgles as the blood under him would soak into his button down shirt before creating a deep red blanket under his body. Amoung them all, they could see that his murderer, this child, would bear no remorse in his eyes, instead a confident smile.

Outside of their classrooms, the event would be interrupted as they felt the earth shake with one explosion, then another. Within seconds, they could see their schoolmates running frightened out of their rooms, unharmed. Next door would not give this. Instead, their stomachs would turn as they could hear screams and coughing, pleas for help to be let out, crying in fear and pain.

"We're all gonna die! Mommy!" Harold screamed, throwing himself from his chair and to the door, trying to unlock and pull at it. His scream brought about others as Arnold's eyes were glued to the pale body of their teacher, unmoving. This couldn't be real, it couldn't be. He thought of Grandma and Grandpa and all the other borders and his room, home. His eyes were filled with tears, trembling. Normally, this would have been where he'd think, "I have to do something. But seeing that, hearing that, the fact that people around him were dead and dying...What was he gonna do?

He would be brought out of his thoughts as a hand closed around his, looking up. While the rest of the students were screaming and panicking, Helga had not left her seat. Her hand closed tightly around his, and her eyes were just as tear filled as him. He nodded to her, squeezing back and she scoot the desk over to his, curling up against his chest as he held her, the two of them trembling in fear.

Watching all of this was Curly, now having stood on the desk and taking in the chaos. He could start to smell burning flesh from the two classrooms, both of them 6th grade classrooms. Firing another shot into the ceiling, everyone would go quiet.

"But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven." He said into the silence. "I've come to end yours and the world's suffering."


End file.
